Puzzle Pieces
by Kristine Thorne
Summary: This is my idea of what I thought was going to happen the night when Connie first met John Grayson in the bar, when we still didn't know who he was. Please read and review. Is now complete, but the first in a three story series.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All characters belong to the BBC.

A/N: This idea came into being after the episode of Holby where Connie first met John Grayson, but I'm only now starting to write it. So, please forget all previous conceptions of John's character. I haven't written for quite some time, so I may be a little rusty, for which I ask you all to forgive me.

Puzzle Pieces

Part One

Her mind was whirling, a mixture of sounds and images permeating her fuzzy brain. She struggled against the dizziness and nausea that seemed to be overwhelming her. But as soon as it had come, it had gone again. Then she was momentarily awake. She moved sluggishly under the duvet, reaching out a hand to the bedside table for her mobile. She knew that she needed help, but she couldn't quite figure out why. As she squinted blearily at the screen, scrolling down the list of numbers, her mind suddenly cleared enough to remember what she needed to know. Realising that there was only one person who might help her in this situation, she selected Ric's number and pressed OK.

"Ric, it's Connie," she said when he answered, knowing that her voice sounded incredibly sleepy.

"Connie, do you have any idea what time it is?" Ric demanded, having been woken from a very deep sleep.

"No, sorry," She said, and he was now awake enough to hear the slightly odd timbres of her voice.

"What can I do for you?" He asked, thinking that something must be very wrong for her to phone him at this hour.

"Erm," She said, clearly hesitating. "How long does Rohypnol hang around for?" Ric sat bolt upright, his own thoughts now whirling.

"Why do you want to know something like that?" He asked her carefully.

"I can barely think my way around the question," She said, her voice now sounding slurred. "So you can forget about an answer."

"About six hours," Ric told her, not liking in the least where his thoughts were going.

"I think that's what I might have been given," Connie said after a moment's pause. "And I need to find out."

"Would you like me to drive you to the hospital?" Ric asked, now extremely concerned for her.

"I probably shouldn't drive at the moment," She conceded, not really wanting him to have to help her.

"Don't even try," Ric warned her sternly. "Where do you live?" Connie had to think about this one, because the information didn't appear to be readily available to her.

"I can't remember," She said in horror. "Why can't I remember my own bloody address?"

"It doesn't matter," Ric tried to reassure her. "Just stay there and I'll be with you as soon as possible."

Pulling on some clothes, Ric frantically searched for Sam's number. He was the only person Ric could think of who would know where Connie lived and besides, if he was going to take Connie to the hospital, someone needed to stay with Connie's daughter. So many thoughts ran through his brain as he scrolled through his own phone looking for Sam's number. What on earth had happened to Connie? Though with the question she'd asked him he could hazard a guess. Had Grace been in the house when whatever it was had happened to Connie? Just who had Connie trusted enough to be tricked into taking a drink from containing Rohypnol?

When Sam answered the phone, he said,

"This better be good," Sounding as though Ric had woken him from a very deep sleep.

"I've just had a call from Connie," Ric began to explain. "She seems to think that she's been given Rohypnol."

"Shit!" Sam cursed violently.

"Quite," Ric said bluntly. "I'm going to take her to the hospital so we can find out, and because until it wares off, she needs looking after."

"And someone needs to take care of Grace," Sam finished for him.

"That, and Connie can't remember her address, which tells me that she's certainly been given something."

"Okay, I'll be there in about twenty minutes," He replied, giving Ric directions on how to get to Connie's house.

As Ric drove through the night towards Connie's house, he tried to fit the pieces of this particularly deadly puzzle together. Could Connie, someone who knew their way around men better than he did the casino, really get tricked into drinking something containing Rohypnol? Well, he supposed that even Connie had to pick up a bad apple once in a while. But who on earth would have the nerve to do something like that to a woman as formidable as Connie Beauchamp, Medical Director, cardio-thoracic surgeon and ice queen into the bargain. Though Ric reminded himself that the title of ice queen wasn't really fair. She revealed only too readily that she had a heart that could be broken like any other when her daughter had been hurt, and the active volcano of sexual desire that he'd encountered on her very first day, bore as little resemblance to an icicle as the warmth from a hearth on a winter's evening. But still he kept coming back to the question of who, and why. Connie wasn't exactly backward in coming forward where picking up men was concerned, nor was she remotely reticent in targeting any man's vulnerable spots when she no longer desired their company. Perhaps that was it, he wondered, perhaps Connie had given someone an unequivocal no, and he had been determined to have her no matter what the circumstances. Suddenly feeling a surge of rage at the thought of someone doing that to anyone, never mind such a strong-minded individual as Connie, he gripped the wheel tightly, vowing to find out who had done this to her, find out who it was, and preferably beat them to a pulp of gibbering terror. As he turned into Connie's tree-lined road, he saw Sam's headlights appear in his rear-view mirror, and they sped in convoy towards Connie's house.

When Connie had ended her call to Ric, she had dragged herself out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans and a jumper, tacitly ignoring the pile of crumpled clothes that she'd obviously been wearing earlier. She was absolutely terrified she realised, because not only could she not remember the details of her address, but she currently had no idea how she had ended up in such a position, nor could she put her finger on the answer of who had put her there. Feeling incredibly dizzy, and as though she was sleep-walking, she went into Grace's room, just to make sure she was still sleeping soundly. There she was, snuggled up under the duvet of her little bed, a soft smile on her face, obviously in the middle of some happy dream. Connie couldn't quite escape the irony that she, Connie, was in the middle of a nightmare. As she gently smoothed some hair away from Grace's face, she wondered, not for the first time, if she really was a good enough mother for this beautiful child of hers. She couldn't help but wonder nearly twenty times a day if Sam would make a far better fulltime parent for Grace. But as usual, her need for absolute control would win out, no matter what her privately held feelings were on the matter.

As she slowly descended the stairs, a wave of dizziness almost overcame her. She leaned on the banister, clutching the solid oak, gritting her teeth to try and surmount the nausea that was threatening to overwhelm her. Then the terror overtook her mind again, flashes of pain, of herself protesting, but above all else, the crippling realisation that she couldn't do a single thing about what was happening to her. Fear, in its purest form was almost crippling her, causing her whole body to tremble and her knees to go weak.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: All characters belong to the BBC.

A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews and there will definitely be more of this story. I'm not going to let it drift now that I've got it off the ground.

Puzzle Pieces

Part Two

When Sam and Ric drew up in Connie's driveway, behind her silver-grey Jag, Sam produced a door key from his jacket pocket.

"I'll let us in," He said. "No point in waking Grace up." Following Sam inside, Ric took in a breath at what he first saw. Connie was slumped in the middle of the stairs, looking as though she'd suddenly come over extremely dizzy on her way down. The sound of the opening door having alerted her to their arrival, Connie looked up and gave them a slightly wan smile. As she struggled to get to her feet, Ric moved to help her, gently taking hold of her elbow, in an instinctive reaction to support her, whilst touching her as little as possible.

When they reached the hall, Sam could restrain his curiosity no longer.

"Connie, what on earth has happened to you?"

"You're guess is as good as mine," Connie told him bleakly, giving a slight shrug that Ric couldn't help but notice had hurt her.

"So you're saying," Sam continued, his voice getting quietly angrier. "That you were in this house, that my daughter was in this house when whatever this is, happened to you?" Reflexively, Connie drew back from him, almost moving to the other side of the hall, though she didn't appear to realise that she'd done this.

"Yes," She replied bitterly, "That is what I'm saying. So yes, now you have even more reason to believe me a terrible mother. Who knows," She said, reaching out to the hall table to steady herself as her eyes began drifting out of focus. "Maybe this time you'll get your wish." Moving to gently push her to sit down in a chair, Ric turned a firm stare on Sam.

"This really isn't the time for this. Now, where might I find a jacket for her? It's cold outside."

"I'll get it," Sam replied dully, feeling thoroughly rebuked.

Crouching down, so that his eyes were on a level with Connie's, Ric gently took her hands in his.

"Connie, are you with me, or are you somewhere else?" the feeling of the pads of his thumbs softly smoothing the skin over her knuckles seemed to briefly bring her back to the land of the living. When he observed her gaze gradually focussing on him, Ric said, "I'm going to take you to the hospital, then I'm going to take some blood, to see if you've still got any Rohypnol in your system. Is that all right?"

"Grace," Connie said after a moment's thought. "I can't leave her."

"Sam's here, remember," Ric tried to reassure her. "I rang him because I didn't know where you lived, and so that he can stay with Grace."

"Okay," Connie agreed almost meekly, her attitude so far from the abrasive determined woman he knew that it made an almost unbearable need to protect her rise up in him.

Having retrieved Connie's jacket from the hall cupboard, Sam had witnessed this little scene, and now felt a slight sense of guilt at having questioned Connie so mercilessly when she was so obviously not entirely in her right mind. As Ric drew Connie to her feet, Sam moved forward and helped her into her jacket.

"Don't worry about Grace," he told her quietly. "She'll be fine here with me."

"I know she will," Connie replied, a brief look of sadness in her eyes. "Nothing bad ever happens to her when she's with you."

When they were in the car, driving towards the hospital, Connie opened the window.

"It might help to keep me awake," She said in explanation.

"Caffeine and nicotine do that for me," Ric commented drily.

"Well unfortunately," Connie said disgustedly. "Going back to that old vice wouldn't exactly help me maintain the Connie Beauchamp I prefer the public and most of my colleagues to see. Which is why, even if I could remember which bastard did this to me, I won't be going official about it."

"And that isn't a decision you should make whilst half your brain is residing somewhere other than the real world."

After a few moments' silence, Ric asked,

"Just how much can you remember?"

"Nothing concrete, from about half ten or eleven last night."

"And from then on?" Ric asked gently, knowing this would be difficult for her, but also knowing that the sooner she talked about what had happened to her, the sooner she would begin to deal with it.

"Just random images," Connie told him, this clearly making her very uncomfortable. "Sometimes sounds, or feelings and sensations, things that I really don't want to have to look at too closely." Ric could see her face in his peripheral vision, and it shocked him to see the fear that lurked not far below the surface of those beautiful violet eyes. It was fear, that if left unchecked, could take over her life, or even her entire world.

"Tell me," He gently encouraged.

"No," She said in an almost hoarse voice, hugging herself as though to keep away any unwanted influences.

"Connie," Ric said quietly, taking her hand in his as they waited at the traffic lights, though at three in the morning, Ric couldn't help but wonder why they were on red at all. "When we get to the hospital and when I've taken some blood from you, we're going to sit in your extremely well-appointed office, where I would like you to try and talk to me. I'm not going to pressure you to talk, and if it's something you are determined to avoid, then I will respect that. But I am going to give you that opportunity and as much support and encouragement as you might need, because it's what I think you need to do. Okay?"

"Thank you," Connie said in a tight little voice, trying to stem the tears that were now flowing freely down her cheeks. Then, giving him a fond smile through her tears, she said, "Ric, the lights have turned green you know." Ric almost laughed as he put the car in gear and moved slowly forward, that he'd almost forgotten that he was behind the wheel of a car. He'd been so concerned with trying to reassure Connie that he'd completely neglected to take any notice of their surroundings. Thank god it was only three in the morning, and the roads were all but empty. As he turned into the hospital car park, he briefly wondered if they would encounter the same lack of interference from the night staff.


	3. Chapter 3

Puzzle Pieces

Part Three

As Connie got out of Ric's car, she slightly stumbled. Pulling her arm through his, Ric said with a smile,

"We don't want people thinking you're drunk."

"Believe me," Connie said a little bitterly. "That would be preferable to anyone knowing the truth."

"Connie, I'm not expecting you to believe me," Ric said as they walked down the long corridor towards the lift, "but you really don't have anything to be ashamed of."

"I'd really rather not have that argument in such public surroundings," Connie told him, desperately hoping that any of the staff she worked with on a daily basis didn't see her in her less than usual state of authority.

Suddenly, Connie stopped. Turning to see why, Ric immediately caught the far-away look in her eyes, the slightly hazy glazed stare, but this time with such a heightened terror in them that his first reaction was to put his arms round her, and guide her toward an abandoned wheelchair not far from them. But Connie started to struggle.

"No," She said, trying to detach him from her. "Where are you taking me?" Thankfully her voice was fairly low in the echoing corridor. If it had been any louder, she might have attracted the attention of someone whom he knew she would rather not become aware of her current condition.

"Connie, it's all right," he tried to reassure her. "You're perfectly safe."

"No, no," She insisted vehemently. "Please, please just leave me alone." It broke Ric's heart to hear this strong-minded, beautiful woman begging someone only she could see in her mind's eye not to hurt her. Just at this moment, she had no idea that he wasn't the total bastard who had drugged and most likely raped her. Ric briefly wondered if she would even allow him to treat any injuries she had. Eventually cajoling her to sit down in the thankfully clean wheelchair, Ric crouched down so that he was on a level with her and took her hands in his.

"Connie, look at me," He all but pleaded with her. "Can you do that? Just try to open your eyes and focus on me." He gently squeezed her hands as he said this, trying to get through to her by touch as well as by his voice.

When her gaze finally cleared, she looked incredibly confused and as though she was valiantly struggling not to cry.

"I'm sorry," She said timidly, feeling thoroughly ashamed of being so vulnerable in front of someone she worked with, day in day out. But Ric wasn't just a colleague, was he. After all, would she really have found out everything about Tandy when she knew Ric was about to marry a fake if he had only been one of her colleagues? She knew that she would only ever have done that for someone she considered perhaps a friend. But this wasn't the time to be reflecting on the different avenues of shared history.

"How do you feel?" Ric asked, getting to his feet.

"Like death warmed up," She said morosely, not commenting on the fact that he was pushing her towards the lift. She loathed feeling so weak and pathetic, but her extreme dizziness made this precaution a necessary one.

When they reached Darwin ward, all was relatively quiet. Glancing over to the nurses' station, Ric saw that Joseph was the only person who might observe their entry into Connie's office.

"Do you have your keys?" Ric asked quietly, prompting Connie into searching in her jacket pocket. When she held them up, Ric let them into Connie's office, relieved that they so far hadn't been asked any awkward questions. Helping Connie out of the wheelchair, Ric persuaded her down onto her leather sofa, noticing the way she tensed when he touched her.

"Are you cold?" He asked, observing a slight shiver from her.

"I keep alternating between boiling and freezing," She said, wrapping her arms around herself, for warmth or for protection Ric wasn't sure.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" he asked, thinking that as well as warming her up, it might have something of a calming effect as well.

"Yes please," She replied, "though the way I feel, I'm not sure it'll stay down."

"Then I'll find you some Cyclozine," He told her, referring to the most commonly given anti-sickness drug.

"That would be much appreciated," Connie replied, feeling an immense level of gratitude for everything that Ric was doing for her.

Leaving the wheelchair folded up and out of the way near the lift, Ric walked confidently towards the nurses' station and the drugs' cupboard, as though he had every reason in the world to be there at nearly three thirty in the morning. But remembering that the Cyclozine injections would obviously be kept in the fridge, Ric diverted towards the ward kitchen. Joseph had observed Ric and Connie's arrival, and Ric's exit from Connie's office not too much later. So when Ric went into the ward kitchen, Joseph decided to follow him.

Whilst he was rooting in the fridge for the Cyclozine injections, almost with the determination of someone with the munchies, he was startled by the voice at his shoulder.

"May I ask what you and Connie are doing here at this time of the morning?" Finally seeing what he wanted, Ric stood up and turned to face Joseph.

"That would take some explaining," he told Joseph candidly. "And it really isn't my place to break a confidence."

"I see," Joseph replied, though not really seeing at all. Taking a different approach, he said, "Connie didn't look too good when you wheeled her into her office not so long ago."

"She isn't," Ric told him sombrely, suddenly wanting to tell someone what had happened, almost needing someone to share some of the burden.

"I can be the soul of discretion if necessary," Joseph affirmed, seeing how much strain Ric was obviously under. Putting the retrieved injection down on the kitchen table to warm up slightly before it was used, Ric filled the kettle and began to make two mugs of tea, waving a third mug in Joseph's direction and receiving a nod in reply.

When the mugs were filled and Ric had handed one to Joseph, he took a sip of the scalding liquid and began.

"I received a call from Connie, at about one thirty this morning, and the question she wanted an answer to was how long does Rohypnol hang around for. It didn't take much persuasion for her to tell me that she thought Rohypnol was what she had been given. So, I phoned Sam, because Connie couldn't remember her own address and because if I was going to bring Connie to the hospital, someone would have to stay with Grace. So, we both went to Connie's house, and I brought her here, to take some blood to see if there's any Rohypnol still in her system."

"And how is she?" Joseph asked, feeling an enormous wave of sympathy for his boss, wanting to also do his bit to help her.

"Some of the time she's not too bad, just dizzy and desperately trying to hide how upset she is. Then, because I'm assuming she does still have some Rohypnol in her system, she'll totally switch off. Her mind will be somewhere else and she won't know where she is or who you are. It's incredibly frightening for her when she does this, because I think she's remembering bits of what happened to her."

"What are you going to do?" Joseph asked, thoughtfully regarding the tea in his cup as though it could provide him with some answers.

"I'm going to take some blood, and somehow get that down to the lab. Then, I'm going to try to treat any injuries she might have, that is of course if she will let me, and then I'm going to do my damnedest to persuade her to talk."

"I don't envy you that," Joseph observed mildly.

"It's the only way she can begin to deal with it," Ric said quietly but firmly. "Over the next few days, possibly weeks, she's going to be having flashbacks of what happened, coupled with gradually returning memories. Helping her to talk about as much as she can now, will speed up that process, and eventually make it easier to move on with her life."


	4. Chapter 4

Puzzle Pieces

Part Four

When Ric returned to Connie's office, bearing a mug of tea and a blanket, he found Connie precisely where he had left her, sitting hunched in the corner of her leather sofa, her arms hugging herself, as though to ward off the enemy. Putting the tea down on the desk and laying the folded blanket on the sofa next to her, Ric handed her the Cyclozine injection.

"Do you want me to do it, or do you want to do it yourself?" Knowing that it had to go in her upper thigh, Connie assured Ric that she would take care of it. "Then I'll go and find the necessaries for taking your blood." Unwrapping the injection when he had gone, Connie was heartily relieved that he had left her to it, because baring her thighs to anyone's scrutiny was simply not on the cards for her right now. After pulling down her jeans, she briefly examined what were unmistakably bruises on the tops of her inner thighs, as though someone had held them open with quite some force. Shuddering at this realisation, she swiftly injected herself with the anti-sickness drug and dressed herself, not wanting to stare at such unbreakable evidence any longer. Throwing the syringe and injection packet in the bin, she picked up her mug of tea and sat back down on the sofa. Ric had said that he wanted her to talk to him, but where on earth did she start? This wasn't her, this wasn't Connie Beauchamp, a woman who needed to come to terms with what some anonymous dickhead had done to her, it simply wasn't her! She didn't need people to help her sort her head out, and certainly not a colleague whom she'd previously slept with into the bargain. It just wasn't something that under normal circumstances she would even entertain the idea of doing. But then, these were hardly normal circumstances, were they.

When Ric returned, he was carrying all the paraphernalia for taking a blood sample.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, moving the blanket aside and sitting in its place.

"A mixture of stoned, hung over, and just rough in general."

"Then the sooner we get some blood from you the better."

"There's no cure for Rohypnol but sleep," Connie told him matter-of-factly. "So this blood test is really quite pointless. I'm sorry, I should have just stayed at home and let it wear off in its own time."

"Connie, you did absolutely the right thing in phoning me, because you shouldn't be alone whilst you're still under its influence."

"Grace would have been perfectly safe with me," Connie protested in a smaller, far more hurt voice.

"Why would I think she wouldn't be?" Ric asked, knowing that the best thing to do was to simply go along with Connie's train of mind, no matter where it took them.

"You should hear Sam on the subject of what he calls my substandard parenting. What happened tonight will only give him more ammunition."

"Try telling me what you can about tonight. Did you go out for dinner, or did you cook for this person at home?"

"I'd had a fairly hard day, so the nanny agreed to stay on an extra couple of hours, so we went out for dinner."

Connie had stopped speaking, because in gently pushing up the right sleeve of her jumper, Ric had revealed what were unmistakably rope burns around Connie's wrist.

"Before we go any further," Ric asked her quietly, "Are there any other injuries I should know about."

"None that won't heal with time, no," Connie replied just as quietly, her eyes focussing on the marks on her wrist. Swiftly putting a tourniquet around Connie's upper arm, Ric took some blood from Connie's vein and tidied up the detritus of his trade. Slipping out of the room momentarily so that Joseph could take the sample down to the lab for him, He came back to find that Connie had rolled up her other sleeve to find that she had the same marks on her left wrist as well as the right.

Sitting down on the sofa with the folded up blanket between them, almost to prevent him from reaching out in sympathy to comfort her, and did he but know it, to prevent Connie from seeking the security of his arms that she wasn't brave enough to ask for, Ric asked,

"Carry on from where you left off. You went out for dinner with someone, can you remember his name?"

"I've been thinking about that, and no, not a flicker."

"Okay, so what time did you leave the restaurant, and then what did you do?"

"I think it was just after ten. I asked him home with me because I knew that I had to get home for Grace, yet I didn't want the evening to end there. No, hang on, that's not quite right." She stopped for a while, had a drink of tea and thought a bit. "I think he wanted to come home with me, but I said know. If it had just been me at home, I wouldn't have thought twice about bringing him home, you know I wouldn't. But I hadn't seen Grace since I'd left for work in the morning, and I just wanted to spend some time with her, even if she was asleep. That's not unreasonable, is it?"

"No, of course not," Ric assured her, "It's perfectly natural."

"Sam thinks I'm the most unnatural mother he's ever met," Connie told Ric bitterly."

"From what I've seen so far, I don't think you're a bad parent," Ric told her gently.

"So," He said, getting them back to the subject in hand. "How did Mr. X, end up coming to your house?"

"The only sensible explanation I can come up with, because I can't actually remember what happened, is that I agreed on him coming back for a coffee, nothing else." Her face went white with horror. "I bet that's when he put the Rohypnol in my drink, in my coffee. I vaguely remember something about going upstairs to check on Grace, and I bet that's when he did it."

"More than likely," Ric agreed gloomily. "What can you remember after that?"

"Nothing!" Connie replied sharply. "Nothing I feel like discussing anyway."

"You won't even begin to get it out of your head if you don't," Ric promised her quietly but firmly. "You need to expel some of the demons while they're still fresh."

"I think I half remember being tied up," Connie said after a few moments' silence. "I just remember it hurting, not what happened before or after, though I suppose that's obvious. Then at one point, it was almost as though I couldn't breathe, but I can't remember why. Actually, right now, I don't even remember phoning you."

"Connie, I think you ought to let me fully check you over, just to make sure that there's nothing that needs treating."

"You're onto a loser with that one," Connie told him plainly. "Because even though I'd trust you with my life, you aren't doing anything that involves so much as looking at my body, never mind touching it. I'm sorry, Ric, but I really am saying no."

"And I'm not going to try and persuade you otherwise," Ric promised her gravely, showing her that whilst the man she had taken home with her hadn't listened to the word no, he, Ric Griffin certainly would. What he did do, however, was to persuade her to drink the rest of her tea, wrap herself in the hospital blanket and lie down on her leather sofa. But when her eyes widened in fear at the thought of his leaving her to sleep, he asked,

"Would you like me to stay?"

"Would that sound unbearably pathetic?" She responded with a wan smile.

"No, of course not," He said, sitting down in the leather armchair not far from her, and when her hand reached out toward him, he took her hand in his, in an effort to keep away the dreams that he knew would haunt her in the couple of hours sleep she had left of the night.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I love this chapter.

Puzzle Pieces

Part five

At just before seven in the morning, Joseph quietly tapped on Connie's office door, disturbing Ric from a light doze. When Ric opened the door to him, Joseph handed him an envelope.

"Connie's results," He told him quietly, wanting to adopt as much discretion as possible in this matter.

"Thank you," Ric replied, raising his hand to cover a yawn. When he closed the door and returned to where Connie was lying on the sofa, he saw that she was awake.

"How did you sleep?" He said, though not needing to ask.

"Badly," Connie replied in disgust. "Are those my results?"

"Yes," Ric told her, unsure if she wanted him to read them or if she wanted to read them for herself.

"Go on then," She invited with a shrug. "Confirm my suspicions." Opening the envelope, Ric removed the small slip of paper.

"Yes, it was Rohypnol," he said, "Though that isn't much of a surprise."

"As feeble as it sounds," Connie said, standing up and stretching her arms, which resulted in a wince from her stiffened shoulders, "I really don't feel up to a day in theatre."

"If you've got any sense," Ric replied candidly. "You won't even think about it. What I suggest, is that you allow me to drive you home, so that you can spend the rest of the day sleeping it off. Who is looking after Grace today?"

"Sam is," Connie said in clear relief. "He had fortunately taken a few days off from today to spend some time with her."

"Good," Ric said with a smile. "Now, I also suggest that we make a quick retreat before the usual gossip mongers turn up."

When they were sitting in Ric's car and driving slowly out of the hospital car park, Connie broke the silence with,

"I'm sorry I kept blacking out on you last night."

"That's unfortunately what that drug does to you," Ric replied, as they waited as a red light. "Connie, you might continue to have flashbacks of what happened for quite a while, especially when you sleep."

"Yes, I know," She said dismally. "Which is why I'm incredibly glad that Sam can take Grace for a while."

"And are you still serious about not going official about this?"

"Of course I am," Connie insisted. "Ric, I haven't got the faintest shred of evidence, and I don't know who did it, so what would be the point?"

"You might have evidence if only you'd let me look for it," Ric replied, though instantly wishing he hadn't said that by the immediate bringing down of all Connie's barriers. After a few moments' silence, when the lights had turned green and they were moving through traffic again, Connie said,

"Do you know why I wouldn't let you go looking for evidence that could either be photographed or collected by swabs?"

"I can probably guess," Ric told her, keeping his eyes on the road so that she wouldn't be forced to meet his gaze.

"It's not the reason you think," She told him quietly. "That day I first started working at Holby, that day you have either tried your hardest to forget or have completely forgotten, was the only time you have ever seen my body in its unclothed entirety. That one occasion was so pleasurable, so incredibly satisfying, that I have absolutely no intention of defacing its memory, by allowing you to touch me in a circumstance such as this." Ric turned and stared, so utterly gobsmacked at her for so long, that she had to remind him to keep looking at the road. After navigating a roundabout, Ric said,

"I always thought that you wished that had never happened, no matter how incredible it was."

"Well, I didn't know you then, did I," She told him with a slight smile.

When they finally reached Connie's house, Ric drew up in the driveway, getting out and following her as she opened the front door. It was nearing a quarter to eight, and as they walked into the hall, there was a shout from the kitchen, and the eighteen months old Grace ran up to them shouting,

"Mummy!" As Connie bent to pick her up, Ric could see that it hurt Connie's shoulders to do so.

"You're very lively this morning," Connie told her daughter, cuddling her and kissing her cheek. While Connie held and talked to her daughter, Ric went into the kitchen to speak to Sam.

"Is Connie all right?" Sam asked as he prepared Grace's breakfast of her favourite cereal and a banana.

"No, not really," Ric told him regretfully. "She's got a couple of injuries that she won't talk about, and probably even more that she won't let me have a look at, and yes, it was Rohypnol, so she keeps having flashbacks, or at least she was last night, and she'll probably continue to have them for some time."

"So it's probably a good thing that I've got Grace for a few days," Sam concluded.

"Yes, and Sam, I must ask you not to blame her for this. As much as it might be easier to think it was, this was not Connie's fault."

"I know," Sam agreed with him. "But you can't exactly say that Connie's usual behaviour makes this type of occurrence unlikely, now can you."

"If that's your way of saying she asked for it, that's way below the belt, even for yours and Connie's usual arguments," Ric told him coldly. "And don't even think of saying anything of the sort to her, because I'm certain that she already thinks it."

"I'm not quite that brutal," Sam said quietly.

"I hope not," Ric replied, knowing that he was being very overprotective of Connie, but being somehow unable to prevent himself.

"Well, at least her bedroom no longer looks like the set of her worst nightmare," Sam told him, gesturing to where the sheets from Connie's bed and the clothes she had been wearing last night were whizzing round in the washing machine. Acknowledging that this had been very thoughtful on Sam's part, he said,

"What she really needs to do is sleep."

When Ric had gone, telling Connie that he would check on her later, Connie carried Grace into the kitchen and sat her in her highchair.

"Thank you for staying with her," She said to Sam, now feeling very unsure of the reception she would get from him, after last night's accusations.

"How do you feel?" He asked, feeding Grace spoonfuls of cereal.

"Rough," Connie said succinctly. "Actually, I could really kill for a cigarette."

"Well, far be it from me to tell you not to do it in your own house," Sam replied, raising an eyebrow at her over Grace's head.

"I wouldn't do it in front of Grace," Connie reassured him. Reaching into the pocket of his jacket that was hanging over a chair at the kitchen table, Sam threw a pack of Benson's at her, which she caught in surprise.

"It's a habit I picked up again when the cancer drugs kept making me feel as sick as a dog, and no, I don't do it in front of Grace either." Giving him a smile, Connie rummaged in a drawer full of odds and ends until she found a lighter, flicking it to make sure it worked, and then heading out of the back door.

"Your Mummy's not a happy lady," Sam commented, as he scraped the last bit of cereal from the bowl.

"Mummy hurting," Grace told him matter-of-factly.

"Probably," Sam replied, peeling the banana and handing it to her.

When Connie came in from the garden, the aroma of cigarette smoke clung to her clothes.

"Feel better?" Sam asked, giving her a sardonic smile.

"A bit," Connie conceded, putting his cigarettes back on the table.

"So, if I take Grace for a walk, later on this morning, would you like me to get you some?"

"Taking up that habit again is the last thing I should do," Connie told him disgustedly.

"I'd far rather you used Nicotine to get you through the next few days, rather than alcohol or something even more destructive," Sam told her honestly.

"We'll see," Connie replied, walking towards the hall. "I'm going to have a hot bath, and then, if I'm lucky, a lot more sleep."

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Sam called after her.

"Yes please," She replied as she walked up the stairs.

Standing on the threshold of her bedroom, Connie took her first look into the place where she had been raped. When she thought that particularly vile word, raped, it echoed around her skull like the clanging of a symbol. But, on moving into the room, Connie saw that her bed had been made up with different bedding, and that her discarded clothes of last night were gone. Sinking weakly down onto the edge of the bed, she reflected that it was just like Sam to do this, to be nice to her with actions rather than words. When she was lying in the steaming scented bath, she tried to take a physical inventory of her body. Her head still felt relatively muzzy, and she knew that this was partly the drug still wearing off and extreme mental and physical tiredness. Her shoulders and arms were fairly bruised, both from being tied up and quite clearly held down at some point. Her breasts contained one or two of what looked like bite marks, but the rest of her torso appeared to be undamaged. The rope burns on her wrists were still obviously sore, and she desperately hoped that Sam didn't see them, or she knew he would start asking questions. The tops of her thighs were tender with bruises, and the entrance to her vagina was also sore. Someone therefore, had held her down, even tied her up at some point, and had forced his way inside her, clearly having made no effort to arouse her beforehand. As she heard Sam's footsteps coming up the stairs, Connie sank further down in the water, so that the bubbles covered her breasts. She certainly didn't want him seeing anything of what she had gone through.

"Thank you, for changing the bed," She said quietly, as he put the mug of tea down on the corner of the bath.

"Oh, that's okay," He said, trying to avoid looking at her because he knew that she wouldn't like it. "Grace says you're hurting, her words not mine," He told Connie, sitting down on the closed lid of the toilet and regarding her thoughtfully.

"She's not wrong," Connie replied, doing her best to avoid his scrutiny. "But it'll heal." Then, taking the plunge that she hadn't been aware she was going to take, she said, "there's, erm, there's something I want to talk to you about."

"I'm listening," He said, not having any idea as to what was coming.

"Where's Grace?" Connie asked, almost trying to put off the inevitable, though she knew she couldn't.

"She's downstairs, watching the fish in the fish tank." Desperately wanting her cup of tea, Connie inched her hand forward along the bath, whilst trying to keep as much of her body submerged under the bubbles as possible. "Sam, please stop looking at me," She finally said, and he immediately switched his gaze to the towels hanging on the radiator.

"Sorry," he said, inwardly angry at her lack of self-confidence.

"I want to ask you something," She continued, after taking a swig of her tea. "And I want you to give me a straight answer. How would you feel, about having Grace full time?" Sam sat in absolute shock. No, she couldn't be saying what he thought she was saying, because never in a million years would Connie allow him to have full custody of Grace, never.

"Are you serious?" He asked after a few moments' silence.

"Very," Connie told him. "Sam, when she fell down the stairs all those months ago, you told me that I was a terrible mother, and that I didn't deserve to be a mother."

"I really wish I hadn't said that," He told her regretfully.

"But you were right," Connie insisted quietly. "You were absolutely right. I feel so guilty, so utterly unbearably guilty when I think of what could have happened to her, all because of who I let into this house."

"Connie, you mustn't do this now," He told her sombrely. "You mustn't allow something that happened to you, something more terrible than I can probably ever imagine, to push you into making such a major decision. If you still feel like this in a few days, or a few weeks, then we'll talk about it again."

"Will you at least tell me if you would be prepared to have her full time?" Connie asked, suddenly needing an answer to that question, needing to know that Grace would be safe and cared for, no matter what happened to her.

"Yes," Sam said with the broad smile that he simply couldn't contain. "It would be my idea of heaven. She wouldn't be living in a place like this, because I simply can't afford it, but I'd be delighted to give her a full time home."

"Good," Connie replied, feeling some of the weight being taken off her shoulders. When Sam went back downstairs to play with Grace, Connie got out of the bath, dried herself and slid under the clean covers of her bed, dreading falling asleep, but knowing that this was what she needed above everything else.


	6. Chapter 6

Puzzle Pieces

Part Six

Connie spent most of that day desperately trying to sleep, but every time she closed her eyes, the terrifying images of what probably had happened to her coursed through her mind. She didn't know that what she was seeing, hearing and feeling were images of what had actually happened to her, returning to her unconscious in flashbacks, or highly accurate imaginings conjured up by her frightened mind. Getting up again in the late afternoon, she reflected that she obviously wasn't going to sleep again that day, and perhaps never again in that bed. Taking a very hot shower, it also occurred to her that she was, by continually scrubbing her body, trying to rid her mind of the invasion that had befallen it.

Going down stairs to make herself a cup of strong sweet tea, she was amused to find a note from Sam on the kitchen table.

"Connie,

As I know that the last thing you will do is talk about what happened, here are hopefully enough cigarettes to last you the weekend. They might help when you can't sleep. There's food in the fridge, and Grace and I are only a phone call away. Whilst I'm out of shouting distance, I will take the opportunity to tell you that I think Ric would also be there to provide whatever help he could, if you would only let him.

Sam."

To her total consternation, Connie discovered that she had tears running freely down her cheeks. Sam was being extremely kind to her, when all she'd ever done was to use him or ignore him at every given opportunity. She was certain of it now, more than she'd ever been that he would make a far more stable full-time parent for their daughter. Let's face it, he wouldn't allow strangers into the house when Grace was there, just because he wanted to get laid. Picking up one of the packets of cigarettes and unwrapping it from its cellophane, Connie walked into the lounge and switched on the gas fire, the light dancing over the artificial coals, making the room both look and feel cosy. Sitting down in the deep armchair next to the fire, Connie lit a cigarette, metaphorically raising two fingers to the warnings she gave most of her heart patients as she took a long and satisfying drag. Even though she was sitting by the fire and was wrapped snugly in a thick nighty and dressing-gown, she couldn't get warm. The things she'd dreamt whilst trying to sleep that day, coupled with what she thought may be returning memories, they all made her shiver.

Around seven o'clock, the doorbell rang. Inwardly cursing an immediate rush of fear at who might be standing on the doorstep, Connie went to answer it.

"Ric," She said on seeing him, moving back to let him into the house.

"Did I startle you?" He asked, coming into the hall and not at all liking the brief look of fear that he had seen on her face.

"Everything's making me jumpy today, that's all," She told him, clearly trying to shrug it off. "Every unexpected sound terrifies me, which I know is utterly ridiculous."

"Connie, it's entirely natural," Ric told her, following her towards the kitchen.

"Oh, so it's entirely natural to feel nothing but total disgust at being in one's bed, to want to drag said bed outside and set fire to it at the earliest opportunity?"

"Yeah, I'd say so," Ric replied mildly, realising that some of her anger was beginning to come out, though he suspected that this was mostly anger at herself, a type of anger that could, if left in situ become corrosive.

"It's only a bed, for fuck's sake," She said, furiously beginning to make them some coffee. "It's not as though whoever was in it with me last night will ever be again." Ignoring what he assumed wasn't usual vocabulary for Connie, Ric said,

"This is because you still can't remember who it was, isn't it."

"I haven't got a bloody clue," She told him miserably. Digging something out of his jacket which he had hung over one of the kitchen chairs, Ric put it down on the table.

"I picked this up for you, because I thought you might have forgotten," He said, gesturing to the packet, which bore the words, Morning after Pill.

"Thank you," Connie said, grimacing at him sheepishly. "And yes, I had forgotten, and I claim to be a doctor." After briefly glancing at the instructions though this really wasn't necessary, she filled a glass of water and swallowed the two little pills, knowing that the next few days weren't going to be a bundle of laughs for her.

When she handed him his mug of coffee and led the way into the lounge, he said,

"How did you know how I take my coffee?"

"I've always known how you take your coffee, from my very first day," Connie replied with the first hint of a smile that she'd had all day. After Connie had regained her seat in the armchair and Ric had sat down on the sofa, Connie lit up a cigarette.

"Ah, the vices one exhibits behind closed doors," He said with a slight smile.

"I hadn't had one before today, since I first found out about Michael and Chrissie, and that was what, three years ago now."

"When Diane, died," Ric said quietly, hesitating over the word died because of the horrendous way in which she had killed herself. "The only thing that prevented me from heading for the nearest casino was that I knew she would have hated me doing that." Connie regarded him thoughtfully through the smoke of her cigarette.

"You really loved her, didn't you," She said into the resulting silence.

"There's always one," Ric said with a fond smile of remembrance, "One who you never stop loving, no matter how many faults you know they have, and no matter how many of your own that they simply can't live with."

After a long silence that was entirely restful, feeling awkward to neither of them, Ric said,

"I came here to talk about you, not to talk about Diane."

"I know you did," Connie said with a smile that quickly turned into a frown. "But I don't think I have the energy to talk about anything, not today. Not at least until I've had some decent sleep, which could be any time from here until the next millennium."

"Connie," Ric promised her quietly. "Any time you want to talk, even if that's just to be angry and cry at how unfair the whole world might feel, I am here and I will listen." She flinched at the word cry, loathing how weak it made her feel. "You managed it once," he reminded her fondly. "On the day Elliott first arrived, and you thought you were going to find it impossible to share an office with him. You've got to let everything out somehow, because I don't honestly think that this is something you can deal with on your own." Looking over at her, sat all alone in the enormous armchair, wrapped in a soft blue dressing-gown, as much to provide comfort as warmth, Ric had the distinct impression that what she really needed was a cuddle, someone to just for a moment take all the pain and the fear away. But this wasn't something he could offer her from where he sat on the sofa, and he wasn't altogether sure that such an advance, no matter how platonic, would have been welcomed. As she sat there watching the ruggedly handsome lines of his face, and the light of the fire gleaming off the occasional grey streaks in his hair, Connie thought about his words, knowing he was right, but not having the faintest clue of just how she could go about purging her soul of the taint of what had happened to her here in this house.

"I will keep in mind what you've said," She told him eventually, wanting the comfort he was offering her, wanting to be held in those strong, protective arms, to stay with her during the long dark night, to keep away the ever terrifying dreams. But this was Ric, and she was Connie, and she couldn't. She couldn't ask something of him that would show him all the vulnerability she currently possessed. He was used to seeing the strong Connie Beauchamp, the firm no-nonsense Connie Beauchamp, the Connie Beauchamp who could deal with anything and anyone who crossed her path. But when she watched him drive away a good while later, she couldn't help but curse her own insecurities. Why couldn't she have told him how frightened she was of being alone in her own house? Why couldn't she have told him of some of the memories that were gradually coming back to her, have confessed some of the things she had done, and had allowed to be done to her? Well, she had managed to just about maintain her barriers today, but how long this would last, she honestly didn't know.

A/N: thank you for reading this. Sorry it's been so long since I updated, but I do promise that in the New Year there will be two further stories in this little series.


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